


Looking for A Quiet Place (And Finding a Friendly Ear)

by merle_p



Category: Looking (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coda, Drinking, Friendship, Gen, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Wistful, Yuletide, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bar is not one of his usual places – he picked it because he did not feel like talking to the other regulars, or running into a friend, just wanted to nurse his drink and his heartache in solitude. Of course, it can never be that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for A Quiet Place (And Finding a Friendly Ear)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cjmarlowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/gifts).



> Hello cj, have a tiny yuletide treat, just because.

"Hey there. It's Richie, right?" 

The voice is familiar, and Richie looks up from his drink without thinking, then regrets it at once. Shit. Of all the people he could run into tonight, it has to be the boyfriend of that Cuban jerk Patrick insists on being friends with. He should have headed straight home like he wanted to, but after talking to Patrick, he simply felt like shit. And that's alright, he knew he would – fact is, the conversation was necessary, something he simply needed to do. But Patrick looking at him all lost and teary-eyed broke something important in him, and he walked away desperately craving a drink.

He has no plans to get drunk, but hyped up as he is, it's not like he can see sleep in his foreseeable future anyway, so he figures he might as well. The bar is not one of his usual places – he picked it because he did not feel like talking to the other regulars, or running into a friend, just wanted to nurse his drink and his heartache in solitude. Of course, it can never be that easy. 

Richie considers ignoring the guy for half a second – in fact, considers just dropping ten bucks onto the bar and leaving, but then he remembers that he opened a tab with his credit card, and besides, he is not that kind of person. 

When it comes down to it, he thinks, this guy hasn't really done anything to offend him, besides being in love with an idiot, but then, that kind of thing happens to the best of men. 

"Yeah, hi," he replies, racking his brain while the dude places his Corona on the counter and climbs onto the barstool next to him. "Uhm, sorry, I …"

"Frank," the guy says, offering Richie a hand to shake. His smile is lopsided, but friendly enough. "It's Frank."

"Right, Frank, sorry," Richie says. He feels a bit bad for not remembering his name, but not bad enough to bend over in apology. "What's up, man?"

Frank shrugs and runs a finger down his beer bottle, leaving a trail through the condensation. "Alright, I guess," he says, "considering that I just kicked out my boyfriend of five years because he made me sleep with a sex worker for an art show that's not actually going to happen." 

He says it matter-of-factly, as if he thinks that Richie already knows this, or at least will hear about it from someone very soon. Maybe he just doesn't care. 

"So," Richie asks carefully, because despite what Frank may seem to think, this is news to him, and he doesn't even know where to begin untangling that statement. "You didn't know he was a sex worker?"

"Oh, I knew he was a sex worker," Frank smirks. "I just didn't know my boyfriend was paying him to fuck me." He is still drawing patterns on his bottle. "Made me feel like I was the one being whored out, you know?" He looks up, and Richie sees that his eyes are red and blinking rapidly, as if he has not been sleeping enough lately, or crying too much. Possibly both. "That doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"It makes sense to me," Richie says, and then, more a reflex than anything else: "I'm sorry." 

He is a bit startled when Frank laughs. 

"No, you are not," he grins, "you hated Agustín." He sobers a little. "Not that I blame you, he was kind of an asshole to you at Dom's birthday."

Richie shrugs and raises his drink to his mouth. It's true, and the memory of watching Patrick hem and haw in reaction to Agustín's insults still kind of hurts, in particular after the night he's just had. But it seems a bit petty to complain to Agustín's ex-boyfriend about it at this point.

"You know," Frank says thoughtfully, resting his elbows on the bar. "Agustín and Patty … it's always been like that. They've known each other for so long that Agustín thinks he knows Patrick better than anyone, including Patrick himself." He pauses. "And the other way round. Used to drive me crazy."

Richie hums, noncommittally. He doesn't want to talk about Patrick. He doesn't want to think about Patrick. He much prefers listening to Frank talk about his personal relationship drama, if only because it makes his own look almost harmless in comparison, and helps him put things into perspective. At the same time, though, he files this bit of information away in the back of his mind, for times when thinking about Patrick cannot be avoided. 

"So how are you and Patty doing?" 

Richie sighs. He would be annoyed at the question, except it occurs to him that if he is cut off from the gossip surrounding Patrick's group of friends, Frank might not be up to date either. He probably just doesn't know. 

"Shit," Frank makes and presses a hand against his mouth, before Richie can come up with a polite way of saying 'It's none of your business.' "You didn't break up, did you?"

Richie narrows his eyes at him, but he seems genuinely distraught. So maybe not everyone thought Patrick was 'slumming it' when they showed up together at that party. He wonders if he is becoming paranoid. 

He lifts his glass to take a sip from his drink and realizes that there are only half-melted ice cubes left, sloshing around at the bottom of the glass. Without thinking, he signals the bartender for another. 

"Yes," he finally says, when he can't put off the answer any longer. "No," he adds. He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Fuck, what happened?" Frank asks, putting a hand on Richie's arm; but when Richie looks at him, he pulls it back quickly. 

Richie considers the question for a moment, but he figures he already knows way more about Frank's sex and love life than he should, and it probably doesn't hurt to open up a little in return. It's not really a secret anyway. 

"He asked me to his sister's wedding," he starts, and then stops. Shit, but just thinking about it makes him want to cry. 

"He freaked out, didn't he," Frank says. It's not even really a question, and it makes Richie feel minimally better to think that this is apparently predictable Patrick behavior, and not just about him. 

"He freaked out," Richie confirms, and Frank sighs. 

"I hate it when they act like spoilt rich white kids," he says, with too much bitterness for it to just be a reaction to the wedding story.

"Isn't Agustín Latino?" Richie asks, and Frank rolls his eyes. 

"Well, he behaves like a rich white kid. He sure did when he was talking shit about you at the birthday party."

"But Patrick wouldn't do something like that," Richie says, and then asks himself why he feels the need to defend the guy who was too embarrassed to introduce him to his parents. 

"No, he wouldn't," Frank agrees. "You are right. Patty's a good guy. I mean, he's immature and insecure and he has no idea what it's like not to have any money or a roof over his head, but he's not a mean person. Agustín and Dom, they can be vicious, hell, I can be pretty awful when I get going, but Patrick – he's not like that at all. Mostly, he just wants everyone to like him."

"And that right there is his problem," Richie says. The bartender sets another glass in front of him and he realizes that he must have ordered another drink at some point. When exactly did that happen?

"True," Frank nods. "But he might still learn eventually. And if you can bring yourself to forgive him ..." He takes a swig from his beer. "I don't know. It might be worth it, you know?"

Richie frowns. "Why are you telling me that?" 

"I don't know, man," Frank shrugs. "You seem like a nice enough guy. And Patrick's a good friend. I get it, he's probably not a great boyfriend because he doesn't have any experience, but he's good at being a friend. He's always been nice to me, even when Agustín and I were fighting, even when he had to listen to us have sex all night through the wall. I do kind of actually want him to be happy, you know?" He grins weakly. "Also, I know it would annoy Agustín, and I'm feeling spiteful right now."

Richie laughs, despite himself. "I'll think about it," he says. "I do like him," he adds, reluctantly. "A lot." He sighs. "But I don't want to have my heart broken either."

Frank raises his brows. "Honestly, baby? I think it's too late for that."

Richie groans. He's right. Of course Frank's fucking right, and what he said to Patrick earlier tonight was a lie: He isn't just about to fall in love with him. He's already been there all the way and back. Twice. 

The barkeeper interrupts his train of thought. "You want another?" he asks, picking up Frank's empty bottle and holding it up in question. Frank turns toward Richie and gives him a thoughtful look.

"We are not going to hook up, are we?" 

Richie looks at him in surprise. Frank doesn't sound hopeful, but he still seems to expect an actual answer. For a moment, he lets himself imagine it: Frank seems like a sweet guy, and there is no question that he's hot. He is also most definitely not what Richie wants. 

"No," he says firmly. "No hooking up."

"Good," Frank nods, clearly relieved. "Another one, then," he says to the amused-looking bartender, "and another one for my friend as well." He turns back to Richie. "Because you, my friend, should get Patty to make it up to you and get back together, and I am so not over my ruined relationship yet."

Richie raises his brows. "I thought you were feeling spiteful?" 

"Not spiteful enough to sleep with my friend's love interest just to get back at my ex," Frank says. "Maybe I need more practice at being mean, after all. Maybe we both do." He almost sounds a bit sad at the idea. 

"I think we are fine," Richie assures him, and nods at the bartender when he comes back with their drinks. He raises his glass for a toast and then realizes that he doesn't actually know what to say. 

Frank shrugs and lifts his bottle, taps it against Richie's tumbler with a clink. "To being in love with spoilt rich kids," he says, and Richie salutes him with his glass before talking a swig. 

He doesn't correct Frank's choice of words. It's easier to accept now, the third Gin and Tonic bitter-sweet on his tongue, that he is indeed in love with Patrick; that he is not done with him, not by a long shot.

Maybe he'll pick him up from work tomorrow, he thinks, maybe they can talk things through over dinner. 

Maybe there is still a chance they can actually make this work.


End file.
